[Chapter 3]
Mriiah sprawled over her bed. It was night, and the only light in the room came from a glass jar on a wicker basket beside the door. The fireworms inside glowed with a pale blue phosphorescence. She was supposed to be sleeping, but the temptation to look kept creeping up on her.
Her father had told her not to look at it, to try to forget what had happened. He had warned her not to let people see it. They might take it as the mark of a curse or something worse. But it still fascinated her.
Slowly, as if on their own, the slender fingers of her left hand wrapped around the long sleeve of her nightgown and pulled it up to just above her elbow. She could hardly see anything in the light, so she stretched one slim arm out towards the jar. In the dim light, she could make out a ring of twelve tiny symmetrical tooth marks. Directly in the middle of the ring the flesh she could make out a small round patch of punctured skin. It looked like a thousand tiny needles had entered her through the middle of the ring.
Which they had. Mriiah shivered involuntarily, even though the room was warm. The pain had been excruciating – the feeling of a thousand tiny blades swimming through her arm, looking for light, looking for life, or maybe for food –
Tonight would be the last night in her Mama’s home, the last for a long while. They were sending her to the White Corter to meet with the Counsel of Five. She had been told that the Five would tell her what to do about the mark. A Flower’s Bite, they had called it. A corruption of the Life Weaving – whatever that meant. She scoffed to herself in the dark. She couldn’t stand them. They called themselves the Elders, but they didn’t even know what the Flower’s Bite meant. That’s why she had to leave behind all the things that she loved – Mama, her father, and even little Tob, her infant brother. That’s why she had to abandon her friends, to pull up roots, to lose the life that she loved here in Mach’s Corter. And Lisce.
The last thought came unbidden to her mind. Why was she thinking of him? Again. Why was she thinking of him again?
Because he had been there. Because he had been the one to pull her from the surreal fires that had blossomed around her, because he had sacrificed himself to save her from certain death at the cruel hands of whatever fate had brought her to that accursed flower. And because the memory of his tortured screams seemed to rise unbidden to her ears, hiding behind every noise that she heard.
Or maybe it was because she had seen him last night. And because she couldn’t face him. He had always been a carefree young lad, although his easygoing nature had been tempered by strong sense of moral justice. Moral Justice. Where was his moral justice then? Now he was a burnt-out husk of a man. If you could call him a man. He was more like a creature, now. He had looked up when she had entered the room, and his glazed eyes seemed to look into the past as he saw her, to remember that day. She could recall staring, horrified, at his blackened limbs – and at the austere, sand-like limbs that replaced the ones that had been destroyed altogether.
Time had seemed to slow, and had only started again when she felt her stomach coming up into her mouth. She had turned away quickly and held on, but the burning in her throat made her want to let go. Her father had been upset with her – by all rights she should have thanked the man who had given his life for hers. But she couldn’t face him. And for that, she felt a traitor.
Mriiah stood up from her bed. The sturdy iron frame moved a little, but it didn’t squeak, and for that she was thankful. She loved her Mama, but her Mama could be stern when she felt the need, and having her only daughter up after dark would make her feel that need. Mriiah was of the age where most woman did their Choosing, and Madam Rolbaddom would not have it said that her daughter had been out at night trying to decide before the time was right.
After listening for a while, Mriiah was certain that her mother was not in the hall outside the bedrooms, so she walked over to the dresser that, up to this morning, had held her personal belongings. It was all but empty now. A large mirror, a gift from her father, hung above the dresser. She gazed at her reflection and wished that she looked more confident about leaving Mach’s Corter.
Mriiah was tall and slim, with dark red hair that fell well below her shoulders. It was straight tonight, but in the wet months, it would often tangle. Her eyes were a soft blue and possessed the spark of a keen intellect. Except that tonight they were filled with a mild apprehension. She’d never been out of Mach’s Corter, and the White Corter was the furthest away of all the Corters. She was going to miss out on the entire summer, on Melini’s bonding ceremony, and on the Harvest Festivals – and that would be if their travel was smooth.
Of course, she was excited as well. Mriiah loved new things, and this trip promised to be full of the unfamiliar. She had heard tales of the things in the other Corters, and now she would be the first of her friends to see them. Melini and Gelline had been beside themselves in jealousy – but both also agreed that they would never have wanted to see those things under the circumstances.
The Five would determine what would be done with Mriiah. The thought haunted her. A bunch of old men would be trying to “fix” her? She hated to think of herself as something wrong. The elders of her village had spoken in hushed voices about curses and bad omens, although they claimed that it had little to do with her specifically, and that it wasn’t her fault. And then they had ordered her sent away from the village.
I’m dangerous. They think I’m dangerous. She was surprised to find that her fists were clenched. She loved Mach’s Corter. She loved all of the people, the animals, the very smell of the place. She didn’t mind that Mach’s Corter was by far the smallest of the Four Courters. It was her Corter and she would always be a Mach’s Corter girl.
She gave a sigh and turned back to her bed, throwing herself down on it as if she were exhausted. The frame gave a tell-tale creak, the sound causing her a brief flicker of chagrin. If her Mama found out that she was still up –
The bedroom door quietly swung open, and in the soft light she saw the silhouette of her mother, a strong woman whose large frame seemed to fit in well with her status as the village blacksmith’s wife. One big hand was placed on her hip, balled into a fist.
Mriiah’s lips seemed dry. She managed to get out a whisper: “Mama…”
Her mother looked at her through the dim light, the trails of spent tears could be seen on the big woman’s face. “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered softly. “I couldn’t sleep either.”
Mriiah struggled to say something, anything, but she couldn’t. Her mother came towards her, leaving the door open to the hall. And so they spent the rest of the night, mother and daughter in each other’s arms, hoping to keep the light of day from coming and pulling them apart.